


Anchor

by elfentruthed



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode 159, Hurt/Comfort, Short & Sweet, kind of, listen martin's just lonely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23263372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfentruthed/pseuds/elfentruthed
Summary: If love could be an anchor, then “anchor” was an apt metaphor indeed. To allow oneself to sink to the darkest depths in the hopes of helping someone else was just so very *Martin*, wasn't it?
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 14
Kudos: 103





	Anchor

When Martin said “I really don’t care,” he knew he was lying. Not about Peter being proud; that was the truth, he didn’t care. But as a whole, he did care. Too much, perhaps. That was how he found himself entangled in his own web of feigned ignorance and quiet double-crossing, after all.

As he delved deeper into the tunnels, towards some ambiguous but seemingly imminent demise, Martin thought of Jon. Jon, who disregarded his own safety over and over and over in the hopes that he had any chance to keep the world safe. Jon, who defied death-- defied The End-- and returned from The Unkowing, for better or for worse. Jon, who, in his deeply buried selflessness that had recently come to surface like an open wound, sacrificed himself to an eternal living grave to save a person who he had no purpose to save.

Maybe he was giving himself up because Jon was really the only hope the world had to be protected against the will of Peter, or Elias, or The Lonely, or The Eye, or any other unknowable monstrosity that would consume the whole of humanity without a second thought for its own satisfaction. Or maybe he was just selfish enough to be giving himself up because Jon was the only thing he had left to give a damn about. Either way, Martin was doing this for Jon. The others too, he supposed, but he knew it was mostly for Jon. 

Martin was vaguely familiar with this concept of “anchors.” He knew an anchor could act to protect a person against the influence of the dread powers to some extent. Some thing to ground them to their humanity. Martin still wasn’t sure what gave him the idea to place Jon’s tapes near the coffin as some kind of waypoint. He had thought he considered it as a piece of The Archivist that would call out to Jon and bring him home. 

But as he thought about it more, as he listened to some of those tapes play and heard some of the statements concerning these “anchors,” well…

If love could be an anchor, then “anchor” was an apt metaphor indeed. To allow oneself to sink to the darkest depths in the hopes of helping someone else was just so very _Martin_ , wasn't it? He had spent months working to cut himself off from those around him so that when the final act of his love for them toppled him over the edge, no one else would be dragged down as he sunk. 

When Peter dragged him into The Lonely, sink he did. And he hit the bottom  _ hard _ .

\---

As he sat silently amongst the dreary nothingness, Martin thought of Jon. Jon, who scorned him for the first few months of their acquaintance for seemingly no reason. Jon, who conveyed the plan to exclude him from The Unknowing a little  _ too _ convincingly. Jon, who had been doing well enough while he kept himself away. 

Jon, who stood before the collapsed remains of his kill, monstrous and unknowable.

Everything he did to keep Jon safe, to keep him human, appeared to have been in vain. Perhaps it would have been best for them both if he hadn’t gone through the trouble of trying at all. 

Jon never needed Martin at all. The realization struck him like a pool of cool water lapping at his ankles. Nothing he did mattered. Nothing he didn’t do mattered. Never before had the purposelessness of existing felt so gentle.

\---

“Look at me.”

Martin knew the voice, he thought. He thought he loved the voice, at least at some point. A piece of him felt that it was unfair to the voice to love it any longer, though. 

Something touched Martin’s face and a lightning bolt of electricity shot down his spine. A pair of hands, warm, fingertips pressing into his cheeks gently. His head jolted up from the shock, and he was met with the sight of some indescribable shifting Horror that demanded--

“Tell me what you see.”

Martin stared into the inky rolling void and the thousands of eyes within, all trained on him, and he felt something he had never experienced before. For the first time in his life, he felt Seen. He felt Known.

As he saw the dense fog slowly lift away from his vision, Martin thought of Jon. Jon, who offered Martin refuge from Prentiss and hid away with him when their death by her hands seemed a sure thing. Jon, who cared enough to ask about his poetry or how he felt after his mother’s death. Jon, who came to Martin before anyone else with an offer to leave the Institute forever. Jon, who was slowly turning into a monster against his own will, yet retained more humanity than almost anyone else Martin knew.

“I see you.”

The monstrosity before Martin disappeared, and all that was left was Jon. Kneeling, teary-eyed, and  _ there _ . At the risk of everything he had fought for, Jon was there. With Martin.  _ For _ Martin.

“Jon, I see _ you _ .”

\---

As he was pulled out of The Lonely, Martin thought of Jon. Jon, whose hand was tightly wrapped around his. Jon, who looked back every few seconds just to treat him to eyes softer and smile warmer than he ever thought possible. Jon, whose heart felt so securely tied to his own, ready to hold him steady through any storm.

Just as any anchor is meant to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little idea I had floating around that seemed worthy of a little 1am writing burst.


End file.
